


A Series of Unfortunate Bakes; or How I Learned to Love Espresso

by MorpheusEnMemori (Its_Darling)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Bakery AU, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Modern AU, Multi, Non-Binary Pyro, it fits the needs, okay so modern AU is technical but, some canon-typical banter and violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 17:21:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10858581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Its_Darling/pseuds/MorpheusEnMemori
Summary: A competition between Baker's League United and Reliable Espresso Dealings, totally-legit-shops that also has ties to the mafia.But what happens when both RED and BLU deal with outsiders wanting to meddle in their affairs? Who knows, the main problem may be can the owners of RED and BLU stay enemies.Ratings to be added but this work should be more along the lines of "antics over violence'.Inspired by a musing from puddingskinmcgeeAbandoned/"never say never" for rewriting





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> note (8/11/17): I am not particularly pleased with what I'm doing with this. I love bakery antics, but this. Something happened when I was plotting and let's just say I dislike what I did. I have been going through a rewrite for a bit, and I think I need to distance myself from this until I sort out what I want to do with it.
> 
> Inspired by puddingskinmcgee on tumblr who made a little... AU post musing about a bakery AU  
> The amount of TF2 I play: next to nil. (pretty sure the comics don’t count, and while the videos do, it does not change playing the game would make it different. Though I am gonna take the "I'll play it once a month like I do Overwatch" because it is fun.)  
> The baking shows I’ve watched: superfan, cannot escape “the male judge” (the Great British Baking Show, good stuff).  
> The espresso: weellll bit of a boba fan, but most boba shops around me moonlight as a coffee shop too.  
> The mafia stuff I see: ….. well probs gonna stumble.  
> I am not so much a cupcake person, and I feel like a certain Frenchman would be offended there were no choux pastries, so I leaned patisserie over cupcake bakery.  
> What era is this? TBH fuck if I know, TF2 has no linearity of time so why should this?  
> Also, people tend to know when places do highly illegal stuff. A friend and I knew of this ‘restaurant café’ that was just too… good looking. Something about it was off. And people whispered/joked around it was ‘that mafia place’. Even allegations that the Italian Mafia was involved. That food was so good too. Surprise! The place was closed down for _tax evasion_ , so something illegal did happen.  
> Also, it’s just like me to get inspired from an AU drabble from 2014. WELP.

The Baker’s League United had a bit of a…. reputation. Most people seem to know there’s a strangeness about it. No one particularly understands the amount of pastries being produced at that location, such a ‘small business’ shouldn’t be that profitable, but it was so damned good, too good to resist. Especially the cupcakes. Tiny red velvet cakes, made with actual beet root, and the firm light yellow buttercream that brought it all together, sold in batches of four. Whoever the chocolatier was knew how to make a mean butterfly. Sometimes a colorful dragonfly would adorn one of the cupcakes.

It wasn’t _always_ like that, before the business really took off, everyone knew it as that _weird_ vaguely French place. Eclairs, “dolphin potatoes” (with the insistence that someone would say ‘princess’ if they couldn’t say _dauphine_ ), and cream puffs that were called everything but cream puffs (profiterole, choux à la crème, chouquette… the list went on). Everyone knew the owner of the bakery was French, even if they never seen the person.

Then the Reliable Espresso Dealings opened down the block. That one took a bit to get used to, given how the red stood out. Probably Australian owned, there were far too many varieties of coffees, brews strong enough to make chest hair grow. Other reason being the owner commented that the best coffee he had was a Vietnamese coffee, and of course he had to learn how to make it for himself, and _of course_ that included all kinds of coffee from around the world. The place just started serving _tea_ , strangely enough.

 There was a strange sort of rivalry, perhaps deep seated disgust and hate between the two shops. It was easy to learn: you did not bring a RED cup into the BLU bakery, neither did you bring a BLU pastry box into the RED coffee shop. In part because of the glaring stares and blatant refusal of service, but…  
There was an _incident_ in both places. A combat-helmet wearing man, dubbed as Soldier and differentiated with RED or BLU, of both shops decided the best way to throw out potential patrons that made the unspeakable error done eerily similar actions. From RED, the Soldier tossed bad, cold coffee towards the offending person, ruining the box and pastries inside them. From BLU, large masses of the day’s baking rejects: burnt pastries, piss poor chocolate, and spoiled fruit, conveniently aiming for the stack of coffee cups that would sometimes hit unsuspecting patrons.

 Both places were far too good at what they were doing, so most people elected the “friends split up and order from the places, eating and drinking at a neutral ground”. People had favorites, place like this, some clearly had a strong love of patisserie or caffeine.

   Although, many did point out that the shops should not be so successful, especially with a rivalry as deep seated as that. But with how well the places are, in terms of just how many people go in and out, the amount of precision in their designs, people joked.

  “Oh, it’s that _mafia bakery_. Real good sweets though. Want a tres leches? The caramel sauce on it is to die for!”

  “That coffee shop? Money laundering ring, probably. They have neat flavors though, we should try their special. Changes every day, and there’s even tea blends to try.”

   Were the rumors true? Probably. But, overall, no matter how eccentric the staff were of both places, no one could deny just how great they were.

 If only they could drop the rivalry and combine shop into that larger building that could clearly take them both in. Now that would be amazing.


	2. Boba-BLU Spy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's perspective one. There's... yeah, a lot of characters to manage.

 Another day, another confectionary experiment. The usual rounds went out: a stack of ‘fundraiser’ pastries were sent out with an assortment of jewels and ‘dirty money’ to be exchanged, a couple bits of bribe money floated around the appropriate places, which meant the usual troublemakers (Scout, Demo, Soldier) were out of the pristine kitchen. Well. Except for Pyro, they decided they wanted to make a pastry.

The first multiple times nearly destroyed the bakery. For a man as refined as Spy, he took far too many risks with his investments to have it burned in a puff of smoke. But. Pyro was good, really good, at colorful decorations with candies, and knew how to temper chocolate exceptionally well. Better than Spy ever could, he never believed anyone could make such a realistic dragonfly out of candy and chocolate. So, Spy lets Pyro make some confections, under strict observation and limited access to the flamethrower.

A frozen confection sat on the decorating turntable, meringue being carefully piped on in floral shapes. Not quite what the Baker’s League United was known for (cupcakes, of all the unrefined things), but Spy’s mumbling companion _insisted_ that this would be worth their time. Only problem with a meringue was that you would have to bake it, but there’s ice cream… Not unless you-

Spy realized one of the devices Pyro brought in was a blowtorch. Originally, he was maneuvering a way to confiscate the item. _Not again!_ But, Pyro made him pause, bringing a hand up and mumbles… something that probably ‘small flame! Promise!” And demonstrates when they turn the device on. A small blue flame came from the torch, and Pyro uses it on the meringue. Somehow, just on the meringue. And not his suit, like they did once when they first started working at BLU.

Well, _technically_ that’s one way to bake a meringue. Great care went into the process, and it’s clear Pyro isn’t trying to burn it.

“Tffa! Mflded Alemeph!” Pyro says.

Baked Alaska? That’s what this pastry is called? Spy had few words, staring at the floral confection. The flowers certainly had personality, even if it was torched brown at the tips, even Spy couldn’t ignore the glorious golden color.

“Certainly looks pretty, but that does not say much for the taste.” Spy says.

“Feh.” Pyro says.

They prepare the knife, managing to cut a perfect slice. Spy refuses when Pyro offers it to him.

“I do not eat ice cream.” Spy says.

“Mehmepeh?” Pyro asks.

“What do you mean ‘what’? Does this actually surprise you?” Spy asks.

Pyro was difficult to decipher. They have a habit of wearing their flamesuit wherever they go, but at least here, they do wear some customary baker’s wear. But seems that Pyro decides to set down the plate, giving what Spy supposes to be the closest to an evil eye the masked person could. Eventually, the silence breaks when the door opens to the kitchen.

“Anything new Spy?” a Texan voice calls.

The Engineer, a man who fiddled with all sorts of technology. Useful for both the bakery and the mafia, managing to blend aspects of the job together.  
 Also the man knew how to make _croquembouche_ towers many feet high, as well as other pastries that required precision and structure. It was no secret that Spy, at a rough baseline, _tolerated_ his coworkers. Engineer did provide some decent conversation, though the accent still bothered him.

“Whatever this… pastry Pyro made. I think they would like someone to try it, though it cannot be me.” Spy says.

“They ain’t awful at pastries, you even like some of what they make, what’s got you protesting this?” Engie asks.

“It’s unrefined.” Spy says.

Pyro crosses their arms, even tapping their foot at the insinuation Spy made. Though, they soon make a sound Spy could not catch, probably a word he does not quite know the definition of, and goes a couple tables over to tempering chocolate for the butterfly tops.

“Eh, fine, I’ll give the firebug’s treat a try.” Engie says.

Engie moves to take the plate. Spy’s not all that interested in the pastry, he’s never particularly heard of it before. Instead, he returns to his desk by the door to look through a few documents, a few for the legal half of the bakery and for the order of… Did Medic expect him to order that many animal parts? So many things would have to be done about that, since everything else appeared in order.

“Hm. First I’ve had an _omelette à la norvégienne_. No idea if Pyro made it authentically, but I’d say it’s worth a shot on that cold pastry day you’ve got every other week.” Engie says.

That was a name Spy recognized, but what Pyro made was certainly not the _omelette à la norvégienne_. For one, that pastry was a dome, and two, Pyro threw in so much strawberry themes that it probably wasn’t worth being called a ‘Baked Alaska’.

“What did you call it?” Spy asks.

“ _Omelette à la norvégienne?_ It’s why I was surprised you didn’t want to try it. Should be French enough for you.” Engie says.

“Pyro called it a Baked Alaska.” Spy counters.

Pyro looks up from their work, having a galaxy colored chocolate they were trying to temper. Spy had hoped that Pyro would take his side, or at least clarify. They look to Spy and Engineer a couple of times, and soon just shrugs.

“Ihhth nth totthin tath.” Pyro says.

“Well, Pyro has spoken. They’re not touching this, so let’s get back to the point. It’s okay to admit you’re wrong every once in a while Spy.” Engie says.

A ludicrous thought, Spy had to win this one. Perhaps for pride, but mostly due to how Engineer gets when he wins an argument against the Spy. And since Pyro has decided to not clarify what they have told Spy, it certainly makes this…

Whatever thoughts Spy had changed out when he sees Scout and Soldier coming in with contraband: a RED cup.

“ _Merde_.” Spy says.

Engie walks to Spy, frowning slightly over the cup. Of course, Spy can never count on Scout nor Soldier to leave RED alone in the middle of the day. Although, it does look different. Most RED cups are coffee cups, although with a couple of new... developments, it appears that RED is branching out to tea and. Whatever was in that. First instance of a clear cup with the RED logo.

“So Spy, you know how you said that we should make sure to keep an eye on RED?” Scout says.

Spy recalls that he said _he_ was going to keep a firmer eye on RED, because of the new Spy they hired to their staff. It would make sense for Spy to monitor such an eyesore like the RED Spy, the man has a cheap suit and is awful at sneaking around.

“Yes, the kangaroo loving hippie has been acting peculiar for months. So, Scout and I made a mission to steal the RED cup. Even looks like commie scum.” Soldier says.

Spy does not bother dignifying that with a response. There was no point. Engineer takes the cup from the Scout, turning the cup many directions to

“Well, aside from the fact that I know you’re ticked Spy, they’ve got a point. I ain’t got a clue what this is.” Engie says.

It looks like there are little… pearls? Whatever the round spheres are, at the bottom. The liquid was probably tea, since that was what Spy discovered from a previous check of RED. The RED Spy somehow managed to convince the RED Sniper to start making tea, and everything has gone… sour for BLU, the cohesion with RED increased substantially.

“This is elusive.” Spy says.

Pyro maneuvers from their position, setting down galaxy colored butterflies on the table where the team was examining the cup. They reach out for the cup, which Engineer allows them to take. It does not take long for Pyro to come up with an answer, going to one of the cupboards to pull out a peculiar package. It was sent to Spy by mistake, and he could not make out the Japanese text.

“What is that?” Engie says.

“Tathifffopa!” Pyro says.

“Tapioca? Wait, those little round balls are tapioca?” Engie asks.

Engineer takes out his phone, pulling up some research for the team. Spy is secretly grateful, though he would wait on results before providing complements.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Engie says, “Pyro is right. Those little… pearls, they’re called tapioca pearls. Most people call them boba, and that drink is a kind of tea.”

Spy wonders about this too, since by reading over Engineer’s shoulder he sees that the drink is a popular Chinese creation. As far as he knows, aside from the RED Pyro and potentially the RED Spy, none of the teammates would be familiar with the drink. Not unless the RED Sniper was holding back…

“See? Told you that RED was being weird.” Scout says.

“Indeed.” Spy says.

Pyro brushes their hands off, humming a little tune. By the time they turn around, that tune turns into a horrified scream that somehow still sounds like a mumble.

Spy looks in the direction that Pyro looks in, and he sighs. The Baked Alaska is gone.

“Gentlemen, primarily Scout and Soldier. This is why you leave the spying to me. Otherwise, the RED Spy will steal our stuff in retribution.” Spy says.

Pyro clenches their fist, making a mad dash into another door leading downstairs. Just how Spy wanted to spend his day, convincing Pyro to not burn things down in the middle of the day.


	3. Flambe- RED Sniper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So what does Reliable Espresso Dealings do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna be real clear and headcanon both Pyros as non-binary (tbh most the mercs use both male and female pronouns, and even it when “dominating” an enemy Pyro, that I kinda feel that with friendly Pyros the mercs would go “eh, I suppose, you’re my teammate.”)

                Reliable Espresso Dealings was a labor of love and… illegal dealings. Honestly, Mick’s stint as a sniper never really ended. Hell, most his employees and coworkers call him Sniper. But, none of them know the reason why they use a coffee shop as a front for all their operations.

                Sniper loves coffee way too much and a coffee shop gives him an excuse to try new and exciting blends. The delivery system set up is nifty too Pyro manages to have an excellent relationship with all the police officers and firehouse staff. Sniper fails to know _how_ but means that RED doesn’t get examined quite as rigorously. Same with Medic being able to supply the nearby hospitals. Gave RED more than a couple of advantages when the mafia work calls for something drastic, usually against their rivals. The bakery.

                Except, somehow, the Baker’s League United manages a similar advantage. RED and BLU have no true hold over the other, and Sniper isn’t sure if he should be impressed or annoyed. He elected annoyed when he found out who owns the bakery, another Spook. Their newest member of about a couple months, the Spy, managed to discover this bit of information. Go figure the Spies were deep seated rivals, especially considering Spy insults the BLU Spy for having a cheap suit.

                Everyone else has fun fighting BLU in the middle of the night. A few times, they’ve done it during the day too. Despite BLU being there first, Sniper saw no issue with having a second company nearby. Then the first few weeks of nothing but too convenient troubles…

                  Sniper’s not one for grudges, but he does like a good competition. The fact that he and the BLU Spy somehow have a decent rivalry that’s typically ‘friendly’ helps matters. Injury, not death, the old conversation kept replaying in Sniper’s mind…. There were other times to think of old memories.

                On a normal legit-business day, Soldier mans the espresso machine and Scout runs the front. Sniper did second guess the Soldier’s ability to handle coffee, but the man sure knows how to make a mean espresso. Scout, while he is not great at certain aspects of coffee making (usually the cold stuff), he can gather a lot of information about all sorts of blends. Scout also knows how to help people find their favorites, especially considering other rival coffee shops outside the area.

                Sniper briefly wonders if the bakery deals with that, then recalls that the Spy has discovered the BLU Spy set up shop to provide difficult French and Italian desserts. Spy managed to cross reference all the nearby bakeries within fifty miles and… well, the list was impressive. Most bakeries seemed to be apt for weddings and celebrations, nothing terribly difficult. But BLU was something called a patisserie, more of meaning it specialized in pastries. Cupcakes were popular, though Sniper did see some of the photos Spy took of BLU’s usual offerings. Did not expect it to be so… colorful.

                Impressive, great attention to detail, makings of a good Spy that Sniper could respect. Then Sniper figured out why Spy went through so much trouble.

                “I think this shop could sell some tea, think about it bushman.”

                Sniper originally wasn’t sure how he should react, though he did recall saying that the Spook knew how to put him in an awkward position. Refusing after all that extra work sounded… unwise. Wasn’t his forte, which was why Sniper never messed with it. Though, Sniper did take a week to think on it, and asked Spy to ‘sell’ the idea to him. Spy was right at home making blends, which there was a blend for every location the entire staff came from.

                It wasn’t awful, Sniper would never admit he actually didn’t like his blend (tasted just like Australia, but it just didn’t feel it was the right drink for him), but it did become clear that tea held some popularity. Even made for interesting blends, and people kept thanking Sniper for finally having a ‘chai tea’ at his place. Spy would always glow at that comment the most, since it was ‘his idea’.

                In either case, once Spy opened that suggestion, new ones started coming at full speed. Some were easy to refuse.

                “Demo, I know you like booze, but I know you make your own, you’d do it here, and we’d lose the liquor license. And I don’t feel like warming up the police to that idea, since I think they’ve barely warmed up to our presence in general.”

                “Truckie, yes, I get it, you really love sweet tea. But your blend damn near rots my teeth off. Yes, I’ll talk to the Spook about more sugar options. Why him? Because he’s the one handling this ‘tea’ business, and I’m enough of a professional to know when I know nothing.”

                “Pyro. Listen. I have a great deal of respect for you. But what do you mean boba tea is really popular? I don’t even know what that is!”

                The last one turned out to be the truth. Spy did make note that boba tea was popping up in the outskirts of where he keeps his notes. Primarily Asian communities had that sort of tea, and Spy noted that he did some work in a few places and picked up the boba trade as a learning experience. Sniper thought it was strange, though Spy dismissed it as “I cannot blend in an area if I don’t know what passes as a typical local, especially if I cannot take a trade if I must hide behind a simple job.”

                So what did the Spook do? Make boba tea. Made a couple batches, actually, with varying levels of success. Today, the Spook was confident he didn’t ruin any of the flavors, it just had to chill. The batch sat in the icebox, as well as a couple cuppas set out for the team.

                Sniper was working with Heavy on rearranging a couple of machines. Scout and Soldier had an… argument. An espresso machine was the main ‘casualty’ and needed replacing. The newer one… happened to be bigger and heavier, posing a small puzzle that needed arranging. It’s a good thing Heavy knew how to rearrange everything to look seamless as well as have sense and order.

                “Over here, da?” Heavy asks.

                “Looks right. Thanks mate.” Sniper says.

                “Is no problem Sniper, though how did little Scout and angry Soldier break the other one?” Heavy asks.

                Good question, Sniper did not get a firm answer out of Scout. Soldier went on his usual ‘hippie commie’ tirade, thus making any discovery nigh impossible. Demo could probably get the answer out of Soldier, though that would not be happening today. It just so happened to be his off day, and he’s likely piss drunk.

                “Mate, they both said the other did it. I’d have more luck asking Pyro, who wasn’t even in the building when it happened. Pyro’s good at guessing, even if they’re too inventive at it.” Sniper says.

                “Hm. Point made. New machine looks better.” Heavy concludes.

                A bit posh, but it should help get the job done. Though, before Sniper could try to think of what he was doing, a clicking sound brought him and Heavy to attention. They were not quite used to having an allied Spy in their ranks, though the characteristic RED suit helped them both relax. Until they saw him holding a BLU bakery package.

                “Spook.” Sniper says.

                “I know, this is not the best of situations.” Spy says.

                “Spook.” Sniper says again.

                The Spy sighs, his exaggerated movements almost causing him to drop the box. He sets it down on a counter, opening it up. Inside, the strangest arrangement of piped flowers that looked burnt, a melting center, and a mushy cake.

                “It was prettier when I took it…” Spy says.

                Out of all the things…

                “Why Spook?” Sniper asks.

                “Did you notice the successful batch was missing, bushman?” Spy says.

                Sniper paused, thinking over recent events. There could be another reason why the espresso machine broke. Spy did warn Sniper that while everyone could handle themselves, only having cameras where the money and jewels are hardly stopped the petty theft. Sniper always figured the ‘main’ business could take as many hits as necessary with all that he’s got stored away, though now… if BLU really would start playing this dirty, he might have to reconsider.

                “I think the more important question was why I missed that.” Sniper says.

                “Do not let that concern you bushman. It happens. Your attention to detail is… not keen for anything other than sniping.” Spy says.

                Normally, Sniper takes great contention with that. He’s great at many things that required attention to detail: hunting, avoiding being mauled in the Australian outback, hand to hand combat with his trusty kukri… Hell, even making coffee required some attention to detail. But, Sniper’s sure he’ll get back at the Spook’s insult. Eventually.

                “I leave for drink and sandvich. Little flower cake too tempting.” Heavy says.

                Sniper waits for Heavy to leave the room before he asks, “What did you take?”

                “I think it’s called a Baked Alaska, though I know it better as an _omelette à la norvégienne_.” Spy says.

                Whatever it was, it still looked like a mess. Sniper sighs, making his way to the new espresso machine to give it a run. That, and the entire situation called for a coffee. Spy didn’t seem to mind, much.

                “There’s more to this than what you’re letting on.” Sniper says.

                “Oui.” Spy says.

                Something else bothered the Spook. Maybe this place was a bit too public, or the Spook figured Sniper should have an idea what it could be. Which, was a long list of things…  
                Couldn’t be the mafia restaurant, the people in charge were taken down for tax evasion.  
                Wasn’t the strange laundromat, turns out the people running it were legitimate who fumbled with some documents they weren’t supposed to get their hands on.  
                It could be the fact that the BLU Spy paid a visit to Sniper’s campervan recently, Spook did get more than a little unsettled that Sniper mentioned it was a common thing. Nah, that didn’t seem related. Spook would have done some retribution already.  
                Then there was the request from a company Sniper never heard of.

                “Is it the strange letter I ended up tossing?” Sniper asks.

                “Would you believe that BLU received the exact same letter, only difference was a few key bits of wording?” Spy asks.

                So that’s what bothered the Spook. Sniper attempts to shrug at the statement, though using this machine required two hands. At least he’s got the espresso done now, so he can drink while the Spook either sidesteps the questions or gives half answers.  
                Both are possible.

                “You will not concern yourself with this?” Spy asks, crossing his arms.

                Sniper opens his mouth to respond, though decides he needs to drink some of the espresso. Take it step by step, be a professional. The Spook is just worried for him, and it’s admirable.

                “Mate.” Sniper says, “It’s not that I’m not worried. It’s that if I need to concern myself with it, I will get another message. Probably with a person coming to ask if I even received the damned thing.”

                “I am not saying you’re… mistaken. Just that you take this a bit too hands off.” Spy says.

                Sniper’s definitely missing something that the Spook has a bigger context for, and he already knows calling the other out would get him the usual smoke and mirrors. It would be easier to think, if it weren’t for the fact that Sniper was watching Heavy sneak back to the BLU bakery box to take the cake. Spy just so happened to be facing away from the box, and attempting not to smoke in the building, despite constantly reaching for his fancy cigarettes in his breast pocket.  
                The Spook was going to be so mad that all his efforts would end up in one man’s stomach, but that would be worth the watch.

                “You say that a great deal Spook, that I am far too hands off for your tastes.” Sniper says, “Is there something different about this time? You would normally use your charms to convince me to change my habits.”

                “Are you implying I have been a good influence?” Spy asks.

                “Never considered tea, and… it’s not awful. Still not really my ‘cup of tea’.” Sniper says.

                The Spook deflates, giving a hardy laugh at the pun. Sniper couldn’t help but laugh as well, despite just how awful that pun was. Heavy managed to use that time to take hold of the cake, and he seemed to debate on what he would do next.

                “Bushman, please do not do that again.” Spy says.

                “I usually say cuppa anyway, I wanted to try it once and see what happened.” Sniper says.

                There was an uneasy silence. The Spook clearly was not going to give him an answer. Sniper glanced behind him, to the Heavy. Waiting. Heavy was not a quiet eater, and it always set the Spook off on tirades.

                “Is there something you would like to tell me bushman? I know when you’re not paying mind to me.” Spy says.

                “Why don’t you look yourself?” Sniper says.

                With that, Heavy took the hint and managed to dig into the pastry. The Spook cringed at the ‘nom’ sounds Heavy gave, more than a little off put by the entire situation. Sniper couldn’t help but chuckle, it wasn’t as though he could really do anything with that cake. It did look like an awful melting mess, he certainly was not about to try it.

                “You watched him go back for the pastry and said nothing.” Spy says.

                “In his defense, he did say he would leave to eat something before eating your evidence.” Sniper says.

                Spy turned around to look at Heavy finishing the pastry. Heavy could only shrug, offering a vague comment in Russian that Sniper was sure neither one could understand. Well, except for the word ‘doctor,’ but with that eccentric man it could mean anything.

                “Mundy.” Spy says, “Is there any reason why you let this happen?”

                Sniper was already at attention with the use of his real name. He does ponder for a decent answer, which he thought made the point clear.

                “What exactly were you hoping to do with that? Eat it yourself? It wasn’t as though I had real plans for it.” Sniper says.

                Spy inhales slowly, grabbing out his cigarette pack and taps it against his hand. Must be a new pack, or a habit that comes from packing new cigarettes.

                “I’m going for a smoke. We’ll talk later bushman.” Spy says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do I think the teas are?  
> Australia feels like… black tea with eucalyptus put in a metal cup  
> Scotland feels like… black tea with a whiskey liquor essence  
> the Middwest feels like… honestly Solly is an ass and would insist that there’s something wrong so I think Spy would make English Breakfast and say “It’s New English Breakfast, as in, New York and those other places.” (and it’d be the same for Scout, because Scout’s interpretation of tea is that “you make iced tea with tea bags. Or instant tea.” Spy would probably die at the thought)  
> Texas… just black tea and tons of sugars (tbh I feel like Spy would be sarcastic and make a peach tea for Texas, “that’s the South right?” “NO THAT’S GEORGIA”)  
> Germany is… black tea, put over rock sugar and then followed by cream  
> Russia is… two blends. Black tea and green tea. Really smoky black tea. Green tea is made with a jam. (my research of Russian tea culture says that tea is served with jam)  
> Pyro is… honeyed tea with milk and popping pearls of a variety of flavors and colors (I feel like Spy made it as a joke not expecting Pyro to love it. His general attitude feels "I am okay with this")  
> France is… Fruit flavored. Probably passion fruit and guava. (would normally have it with a Madeleine, but that’s tempting fate)
> 
> (let me be honest. I am gonna have at least one relationship. When I thought the idea, it was aiming to be gen. Though, looks like one will have some traction. I'm pretty sure people can easily figure out which pairing it'll be, but I am considering 3 others on a smaller scale)


	4. Tea Dueling- BLU Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spy dealing with Stuff(TM) and an original character?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so, I was gonna move to some serious stuff, but I think I’ve decided on some pairings so I went the “I can have more setup”. No smut, but I mean, giving a warning in case people were all “I like gen stuff with no reference to relationships” to eventually expect new tags.  
> Also. This chapter and next chapter are late because Cosplay Crunch™. I actually posted this while at Momo Con (which I managed to find a Red Sniper and Blu Spy, coincidentally)

                A first for the Spy was watching Sniper make… something.

                It was certainly a ‘something’ that required a lot of butter. Too much for anyone’s taste, but Spy took some enjoyment in watching the event take place. He could comment about it now, but the ingredients were already in use, may as well see the end results.

                “Are you going to stand there and gawk?” Sniper asks.

                “Perhaps.” Spy says.

                Was it some sort of Australian pudding? In the heat of Australia, it might make sense. Until he saw Sniper try a piece and spits it out in the trashcan. Answered Spy’s question that this was a typical baking error.

                “Ah piss.” Sniper says.

                Spy looks over the ingredients of the handwritten list. Many were doubled, but it seems that Sniper added quadruple the amount of butter. If it was unsalted, the error may have gone unnoticed.

                “What is this supposed to be, if you didn’t muddle the ingredients?” Spy asks.

                “Erm.” Sniper starts, “French silk pie. One of mum’s favorite recipes.”

                “I fail to understand why it needed almost five hundred grams of butter.” Spy says.

                Sniper curses, picking up the list and checking on the box of butter. A couple more curses, and Sniper takes hold of his glasses to check the difference. Not that the lenses would have made much of a difference, but seems that he sorted his mistake.

                “Converted the measurements wrong.” Sniper says.

                “That was glaringly obvious.” Spy says, “Now, are you going to use a scale like a proper baker?”

                Sniper muttered something, trying to sort out what to do with the filling. Spy was tempted to say dump it, though a loud belch catches his attention. Demo was supposed to be keeping an eye for any antics from RED, but was currently so drunk that Spy doubted he was paying much mind. He muttered something. Eventually, his mumbling became coherent.

                “Why don’t ye give it to Scout?” Demo asks, “Laddie wouldn’t know the difference. Be a waste of food. And if he won’t eat it, Solly might. Or Pyro, wherever they’re at.”

                “Eh, Spook’s choice.” Sniper says.

                Spy shrugs, not particularly caring either way. As interesting as this project is, he knows the real money comes from the jobs they do as mercenaries. But… Baking is fun.  
                He should make some macarons later. Black currant flavored, despite how unpopular they are. Now that he thinks on it, the man that buys three dozen of those hasn’t been over for many months. Demo and Sniper get into a conversation about RED. Seems that the new Spy and their Sniper get along fine, which is causing Sniper an assortment of problems.

                “Every bleeding time, if it ain’t their Spook, it’s their Sniper. They’re always throwing me off, working like they’re the best of mates.” Sniper says.

                That was intentional. Spy lets the conversation continue, working on the macarons that he was thinking of. He put a bit too much black currant in the mix when he heard a specific comment.

                “Ya think you can manage something with Spy?” Demo asks.

                “With how our Spook manages with the RED Sniper, may as well look as though they’re good mates too.” Sniper says.

                Spy huffs, arranging the mix for baking and he sets up for the cream filling.

                “Bushman.” Spy warns.

                “Oh come now, you’ve heard us talk for about a half hour while you made your posh treats. You have any more to say?” Sniper asks.

                There was a great deal, actually. But Spy had to focus, there was one part of the cream mixing process that would ruin the entire batch if he didn’t pay attention. Sniper sneers at Spy, turning back to Demo who was back at drinking his alcohol of choice.

                “See what I have to deal with Tavish? Aware of the problem, but decides he’s too good to help.” Sniper says.

                “Ah, well.” Demo starts, “Spy can be a downright bastard if he wanted to. Usually an asshole, a bit posh… and can be a bit silly at times. But, Spy’s got a bottom line to think about. If BLU wasn’t his project, I’d be a bit more vocal about displeasure. Currently, I’m still alive, I get free alcohol so long as I do what I need, and get paid for solo jobs on occasion. Ain’t much more I need Lawrence.”

                Sniper must feel as though he needs more, because the groan Spy heard certainly threatened to echo for hours. Spy partially wonders why he deals with this Sniper… then recalls that having a Sniper to counter the RED Sniper was the primary goal.  
                Well, until the two of them gotten to chat, as business owners. Going through staff was not good business, which the RED Sniper was experienced enough to realize this. But that did not change the general displeasure both businesses have for each other, given they somehow found the most annoying part of their counterparts.  
                A Louisiana Spy, for example. Using French in that peculiar accent and calling himself French. Insulted Spy to no end, and the RED counterpart felt similarly.  
                The cream can finally set, Spy wrapping the top given he does need to wait on the biscuits.

                “Sniper.” Spy says.

                “Oh? Finally going to talk to me?” Sniper asks.

                “Demo- Ah, Tavish. He made a point.” Spy says, “I made many plans to keep us in this comfortable state, which I cannot divulge many details in.”

                “You mean how you’ve went to the RED’s campervan and were there for most the night?” Sniper asks.

                Demo looks between Spy and Sniper, electing to see himself out this conversation by drinking more profusely. That was probably the safest bet for him.

                “It’s where the RED Sniper keeps most his paperwork, perhaps that’s hard to believe.” Spy says.

                “I know how he keeps his house. But the entire night?” Sniper asks.

                There honestly there was limited justification, Spy knew this and Sniper did too. Spy could spin this many ways, though the antagonism is already there.

                “Lawrence.” Spy says, “What do you want out of this?”

                “Wait.” Sniper says, “You’re… actually discussing this?”

                “Oui. It does not serve me to have you aggressive and try to instigate others to go against me. Even though most of BLU enjoys it here, I am aware you are not here for the baking, but for the sniping and money.” Spy says.

                Sniper takes a moment, thinking of an articulated question.

                “What sort of relationship do you have with the RED Sniper?” he asks, “Don’t weasel your way out of this. I know you talk to him, and I’m aware that you’re probably doing this for a reason. Something practical, to keep us and his lot alive. But, something isn’t adding up and I think we deserve some sort of clarification.”

                There was certainly a way to spin this. Spy was thinking of something, until a loud slam makes the three of them lurch. He mentally curses the customer, he was so sure some could read the sign that says open gently…

                “Oh hallo~. Where is my favorite bakery owner?” A singsong voice calls.

                Oh it’s _him_. Spy loses much of his tension, this was a refreshing break from the current events.

                Been a while since Spy has heard this voice. A bit of a peculiar regular, always doing something every couple of weeks, and he seemed entrenched in an assortment of tasks across many interests. There was a six month break, of which Spy would never admit he missed this ‘customer’. In all fairness, the two were Spies, downtime was inevitable during long heists. The man, whom Spy refers to as Eccentric, have quite the relationship…

                They both have a peculiar “game” going on. A guessing game, where the two attempt to figure out the other’s name. Spy does not feel compelled enough to look into Eccentric, although he did admit to Spy he had more than one legal name in certain circles. Either to make the game interesting, or to speak the truth, Spy was uncertain.

                In either case, Spy exits the kitchen, leaving Sniper’s question about the RED counterpart unanswered. It took a moment for him to recognize Eccentric, the outfit it was… If the suit wasn’t so bogged down by clockwork gears and other peculiar inclusions, such as goggles and set of clawed rings. The hat looked ridiculous too, so much more than BLU’s entire stock of hats.

                But, the thought of collecting such a thing…

                “That has to be the most ridiculous ensemble I have seen you in.” Spy says.

                “Ooh! The balaclava looks new. Got sick of wool? Or is it a new weave?” Eccentric asks.

                Observant, as Spy expected. Eccentric does have a keen attention to detail. He walks closer, taking off his hat to reveal exceptionally short blond hair. Used to be red, this one knows how to hide in plain sight with his generic face, all with just hair. Only, he seemed significantly thinner and exhausted, even with his genuine smile.

                “I’m going to win this time, mysterious Spy. Your name is Aurélien.” Eccentric says.

                “Not even close. However, it has been some time, I won’t even try! Amelia.” Spy says.

                Spy expected the man to laugh, insist that Spy give a real attempt. Instead, Eccentric gives a kind of pause, as if he’s heard the name many times. Spy raises a brow, knowing that this gives quite a bit of insight he was not expecting. Sure, Spy could have figured this out with a little bit of effort, but this...

                “I’ll be honest.” Eccentric says, “Been more than a few years since people called me that, Aurélien.”

                Another part of the ‘game,’ since Eccentric does wish to put a name to a person. The first time the man arrived, he insisted that names held a significant meaning, and would never accept that someone called himself ‘Spy’. Spy has no such qualms, but Eccentric insisted the Spy give him a name.  
                Hence, Eccentric. The most eccentric espionage agent that Spy associates with.

                “This is… unexpected.” Spy says.

                “Well, I guess the game had to end eventually. It’s too bad I didn’t figure out your name.” Eccentric says.

                There was a pause, Spy thought on how, well… he didn’t dislike the game. It was more a silly pastime than anything, Spy attributes the ‘niceness’ from how they both talked at length about Louis Crabbemarché tailored clothing the first time they met. Other than baking, finer tastes certainly caught Spy’s attention.

                “Ah.” Spy says, stopping Eccentric, “I think I will take the knowledge your name starts with an A, or used to.”

                “Well. Want to keep the game going to find my new legal name?” Eccentric says, “I won’t protest Aurélien.”

                “Besides, it has been a while…” Spy says, “And I can tell you’ve been through a great deal.”

                “Ah. Cancer!” Eccentric says, “No big deal. They cut it out of me and I finally have the energy to travel. And my hair’s growing back.”

                That was quite the jump, though with all the other previous injuries and ailments… house-fire, getting hit by a dump truck, shot in the leg, breaking an arm trying to get a box of crackers. Things that Spy managed to confirm, to where he believes any story out of habit, though still makes a mental reference to examine a few records without spoiling the game. Then again, Eccentric was good at making false names that suited the needs.

                “To health then. You must want your usual?” Spy asks.

                Macarons, black currant. Eccentric’s favorite. There is a moment’s pause, one that Spy notices. This was a business call, not one of pleasantries.

                “Okay, so. While I would normally say yes…” Eccentric says.

                “What is it you’re doing now?” Spy asks.

                “Heresy! Your staff will hate me!” Eccentric says, leaning in closer to whisper, “I’m arranging a tea duel.”

                First thought was, what was a tea duel? Second thought, why was Eccentric admitting he’s been consorting with RED. Especially considering the staff had to be watching.

                “Mon Dieu, you haven’t! Abandoning here, for RED?” Spy says.

                “Now listen here, Aurélien.” Eccentric says, “One, your tea is the best. Two, I make my own blends, which you recall one and you said it would work perfectly with Madeleine’s. And three, the main part of the tea duel is not the tea, it’s the biscuit.”

                Then came the exceptionally long explanation of Tea Dueling. Eccentric managed to approach the ‘inventors’ of tea dueling, suggesting a bit of flair to it. Normally, Tea Dueling is for ‘good sport’ for anyone. But the biscuits involved… Well, cheap drivel. And Eccentric happened to run into an interesting problem.

                “So, I found a group of Steampunk enthusiasts who are intolerant to ingredients of the biscuit, varies on what it is. I messaged them and managed to get a couple intriguing alternatives.” Eccentric says, “Same principles, a bit messier, but… Florentines were what I was thinking of. Only, if you could make them peanut free, and the dark chocolate needs to be made without milk. I know your recipe has no flour already, no concerns about that.”

                “Of course, that is never an issue. What tends to be… is how many do you need?” Spy asks.

                “Not many!” Eccentric says, “Only two hundred.”

                “… _Deux cent_.” Spy says.

                Two hundred Florentines. Spy knows Eccentric at least orders things a week in advanced, there was no concern about sudden baking endeavors. But Florentines… are such a picky biscuit. So picky that all two hundred would have to be made in a day, else it would just spoil.

                “Is there a problem Aurélien?” Eccentric asks, “Have I found a task you will not do?”

                “To think, I considered giving you a macaron for free.” Spy says.

                “You can give me a special biscuit.” Eccentric says, “And I will pay for a new suit.”

                Spy processes what Eccentric said, thinking over all the logistics. And he couldn’t help but start laughing. This was that sort of business call, the first instance Spy received such a thing.

                “What did I say?” Eccentric asks, inquisitive.

                “You need _my_ help?” Spy asks.

                “Oh Aurélien, if I had needed help, I would have requested catering services and not just a large batch of delicious Florentines.” Eccentric says, “But that’s a little on the nose of obvious, isn’t it?”

                Obvious, yes. Sometimes obvious works, especially since Spy has the entire police force in his pocket. It would not be terribly difficult to ‘convince’ the right people to insist that it was just a bad biscuit. Eccentric was already allergen conscious, and it could be as easy as “a new bag of mixed nuts that happened to include peanuts” to blame.  
                This did not change it was out of Eccentric’s style.

                “I thought you were one for dramatics. This reads… out of your scope.” Spy says.

                “Well, I _did_ have cancer.” Eccentric says, “Working in the Steampunk area certainly is within my realm of eccentric. Tea dueling did take you for a pause. But, I suppose I did get stuck trying to… be creative.”

                Spy wondered, for a moment, if this was the RED Spy. He did think it highly unlikely, given circumstances. There was one way to test this, though it required some set up. Eccentric did dabble in… everything. To where Spy guessed in what areas Eccentric moonlight in, if espionage was not an option.

                 “Hm. Admitting you’ve lost your touch? Mon Dieu, what sort of spy would you be?” Spy asks.

                “A sniper.” Eccentric says, “Still got my aim.”

                That sounded exactly like Eccentric, a Spy that specialized in sniper rifles and could take targets out from a distance as well as up close.

                “Oh? Why not a demonstration? You’re still good at flicking your favorite cream at unsuspecting targets?” Spy asks.

                “Always. Give me a target!” Eccentric says.

                Eccentric could do it with a couple acceptable creams, but always favored a Mexican heavy cream that Pyro specializes in. With the weapon of choice, and suggesting to target an eye, Spy thinks of someone who’s in the kitchen that he can call out. Another way to test Eccentric is his knowledge of Gaelic. Demo would be perfect.  
                Just as the Scotsman came out, Eccentric manages to fling the cream right over his… eyepatch. Eccentric purses his lips, seeming confused over the action. Spy remains quiet, waiting.

                “… Now what was the meaning of that, lad?” Demo asks.

                Eccentric tilts his head from one side to the other, licking the rest of the cream off his finger. Spy starts feeling uncertain, slipping his hand for his trusty butterfly knife.

                “ _A bheil Gàidhlig agat?_ ” Eccentric asks.

                Demo raises a brow, laughing boisterously as he manages to speak Gaelic in his slurred accent. The nigh immediate response Eccentric has helps settle Spy. Definitely Eccentric, Spy knew that the man at RED had no knowledge of Gaelic. Now he had to deal with listening to Demo and Eccentric talk about… something.  
                Well, it would give Spy time to sort out how much to charge for two hundred Florentines, as well as look over catalogues for a new suit. If Spy was going to take this sort of job, he certainly should be worth his time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the blunder BLU Sniper made was a blunder I made. I made salty pudding instead of a silk pie. I was so sad. Then I made another pie and it was significantly better.  
> In my defense: I doubled the ingredients wrong. It called for 4 oz, and I think I just managed to do 16oz instead of a proper 8oz.  
> Also, before anyone asks… max I’ll do with accents is specific like… verbal tics. I don’t write accents, but I will use words a person’s more likely to use (oui, mate, dummkoffs, da). It’s purely how I was taught to write and I am not going to confuse myself by trying to make things accurate.  
> And, with the tea dueling thing, I legit pulled the Florentine out from memory. I’m just aware it’s a really picky cookie, and I have no idea how it’d do in a tea dueling environment. But. Y’know. Reasons.


	5. Chapter 4- Macaron (RED Sniper)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sniper meets an eccentric fellow  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect a chapter 4.5 very soon (not quite a 5 because I'm following a "technically just a shift in perspective and will answer many questions" eeeven though people COUNT that as just enough for a separate chapter.)  
> Look, I was gonna make an 8k monstrosity involving RED Sniper and I said "not today, even though I tried to write it in one day"  
> So instead, take my 3k thing and know that BLU Spy will at least get something longer (for once)  
> I listened to these songs while writing this and they somehow wiggled their way into the fic. https://youtu.be/vK5E_aeBGYA (gonna warn that there’s a shooting scene in this video)  
> https://youtu.be/l_MyUGq7pgs  
> Also gonna note that I think two weeks passed between chapter 3 and 4  
> (I also edited a few of the tags. The relationships part has developed, it's technically ambiguous enough to keep it gen, but I'll just say multi and more of go "it's really briefly mentioned, or sidestepped" in case people were more of hoping for zero relationships.)  
> Gonna express a mild warning of body parts. Just mentioned really. I mean Medic is in this chapter, so that should be enough of an answer.  
> June 5th edit:  
> I... kinda wrote myself in a corner. I also disliked how this chapter came out. So I took out an OC I had appearing and rewrote a bunch of parts.  
> Now things are going smoother. Should have an actual update Wednesday.

                RED opens at a strange hour on Sundays. In part because Sniper has noticed the clear difference in customers that he did not want to attract. And because the sniping range was mostly clear in the mornings. Though Sniper enjoyed his privacy, he had to become used to teammates following him. For protection, they said. Medic came with him this time, discussing German philosophy on the way in, dressed casually for the breezy fall weather but still with a pristine lab coat. Spy is probably following under a cloak, since Sniper is used to two people tagging along with him.

                Music playing loudly let the two know that they would not be alone. He had some familiarity with Bollywood films, visiting Asia a couple times would do that.

                “You usually rent this place out, ja?” Medic asks.

                “Usually.” Sniper says, “Crikey, who could that be?”

 Medic was the one who insisted on checking first, his hand on his trusty bonesaw hidden deep within his lab coat. Sniper saw no reason to be so worried, though he did reach for his “old fashioned” carbine, just to settle the Medic.

                A voice sings along with the words, the accent near impeccable. Much like how both Spies would mimic them, either in battle or jest. There was a BLU box peaking from one of the sniper stalls, overflowing with strange blueish black cookies. A hand reached behind, taking one cookie, and changing the song to an entirely different song. Still Bollywood themed, and while the voice was now a masculine tenor contrasting the high pitch woman’s from earlier, the mystery person sung in tune.

                Medic glances back to Sniper, a smidgen confused over the events. Sniper shrugs, moving his way past Medic to edge to the wall. He manages to catch a back view of the other sniper. Not from BLU, maybe just had a cookie craving they could fill. The man has a strange posture, almost as if it’s been a few months since he used a rifle. Sniper wanted to blame it on the suit, but it was Italian style, made for mobility and comfort. The man’s aiming was taking far too long, Sniper could see the slight details and figured it was leaning a bit too much to the right.  
                That sniper may have once preferred his right-eye for sniping, though when he shoots, it’s clear it may not be the case anymore.

                “Dammit.” The mystery man says, “Still to the right… Ugh. I _hate_ shooting with the right hand. Need to get my eye checked.”

                Sniper raises a brow, both at the vaguely British accent and finding that to be the strangest comment he’s heard. But, he watches the man set his rifle up, changing over a couple things on it. Gives Sniper a chance to see the man a bit better, noticing bleached blond hair and… ethnic ambiguity. Might be European, but Sniper would need to see his face better to try to determine that. Many of the parts are interchangeable, probably to help with his ambidextrous abilities. He’s shifting things over to make it comfortable for his right, the mystery man takes position.  
                There is no hesitation and he does not miss this time.

                The man hums in disappointment, setting his rifle aside and pulls the cart with the cookies closer to him. He’s reaching for another cookie as well as taking a hold of a notepad, though still does not direct his attention to Sniper. Sniper concludes that ‘ethnically ambiguous’ would have to stick. As well as the fact that the man wore contacts, no one naturally had gold eyes. Sniper found that especially peculiar, what sniper wears colored contacts?

                “I wonder if I can make my friend bake some apricot flavored ones.” The man says, “No, too on the nose. Don’t you think, new friend?”

                Sniper breathes in and lets it out slowly. He had a feeling there was more to this mystery man than just this appearance. He doesn’t glance at the Medic, who’s probably trying to determine how much of a threat this man poses.

                “How long did you know we were here?” Sniper asks.

                “The owner told me that you usually came at the same time Sundays and you liked your privacy.” The man says, “I lied and said I was meeting you, as well as a decent bribe to get the point across.”

                Excellent, this was a business call. Though Sniper could only hope it would not be a dangerous one. Well, with the rifle to the side, Sniper and Medic do have the advantage. For now.

                “Alright mate. I’m here. What do you want?” Sniper asks.

                “Honestly?” the man asks, turning to him and lounging back as comfortably as he can, “I just wanted to see this owner of Reliable Espresso Dealings that my friend complains about. And I couldn’t crush his heart by going to your coffee shop.”

                There had to be some truth to it. No one buys what looks to be three dozen cookies for themselves. Especially not those picky cookies the BLU Spook prides himself on. On occasion, Sniper does find it a bit endearing that the BLU Spy and him do what they enjoy. Until they both get hired to deal with the same people, that is.  
                Which was today. BLU Spy warned him with a vague message posted on his van’s door.

                “And you did this knowing you would be outnumbered.” Sniper asks.

                “It was a calculated risk.” He admits, “Could get killed. But, couldn’t hurt much of anyone. Friend said I lost my touch. Being sick does that! I… also figured that you wouldn’t mind an out of the way place, just in case you decided shooting me was worth it.”

                Perhaps it was his way of saying he wanted a good meeting…  
                Either that or he was stupid.

                “Still, a bit much to ask. You could have been… I don’t know, not some bloody eccentric bastard about it.” Sniper says.

                He hears the Medic choke, probably because of something he said. The man snickers, shifting into a significantly relaxed position as Medic clarifies.

                “Are you this… Eccentric? Is that what people call you?” Medic asks, “You’re still here after the stunt you pulled?!”

                He’s called Eccentric? Medic has heard of him?

                “Oh! You heard of my reputation?” Eccentric asks.

                “I heard you poisoned someone at random at a Steampunk meet up.” Medic says, “A clever ruse with dietary sensitive biscuits, people presumed that the biscuit was tainted by mistake. But, a few medical collogues noted that you bought them from BLU and given how quickly BLU was absolved from any implications, along with blood work reports mysteriously vanishing…”

                Eccentric chuckles, shrugging as he seems impassive about the entire thing.

                “Bloody piker.” Sniper mutters, “Bloody hell.”

                “Oi mate.” Eccentric says, mimicking his accent, “you gonna keep being a wanker?”

                “You don’t follow a man’s schedule just because you happen to fancy the French Spook at BLU.” Sniper says.

                Eccentric doesn’t give a response, smirking as he rises slowly. Sniper and Medic go to reach their weapons, though pause when Eccentric raises their hands in surrender.

                “Believe me or not, I don’t particularly care.” Eccentric says, “Just know that it was a curiosity, and it did start from the ‘French Spook at BLU’ because he certainly wasn’t telling me anything.”

                Something else was motivating Eccentric. Medic has been mentioning a string of strange murders for the past couple years, ever since RED joined the fray. BLU had established themselves for about two months prior.  
                Quite the timeline, especially for someone unaffiliated.

                “Bugger.” Sniper says, “I would understand if you were BLU.”

                “I am not an _unaffiliated_ mercenary, per say.” Eccentric says, “I just have friends I work with, and we happen to take separate jobs. You wouldn’t believe the stories I have about the ‘French Spook’ that he wouldn’t tell anyone.”

                Medic coughs, seeming uncomfortable with Eccentric’s statement. Sniper wasn’t feeling at ease either. He wonders where the Spook is, he knows someone else followed and certainly hoped it was him.

                “Well. I will not contest that. You do frequently work with someone called ‘Maelstrom’.” Medic says, “And a third person, though I heard it was more over phone calls and video conferences, given he still resides in some part of Europe.”

                “Hm. I will admit, I didn’t expect a medic to be so smart. Sorry, but Frenchie has a really dumb medic, forgive me for… underestimating you.” Eccentric says.

                Sniper could make a comment that while he manages RED, he certainly would be lost without the help of the other mercs, but figured that sounded stupid. Medic, Spy, and Truckie certainly knew how to keep Sniper up to date. But from the sounds of this, Eccentric wasn’t a typical interloper.

                Eccentric relaxes, reaching out for another cookie.

                “Biscuit?” Eccentric asks, offering one to Sniper, “It’s black currant flavored.”

                “Piss off.” Sniper says.

                “Fine. More for me.” Eccentric says.

                Eccentric starts eating the cookies at a quick pace, much quicker than what Sniper would expect out of a guy who looks like a-

                “You’re a Spook too, aren’t you?” Sniper asks.

                “ _Quoi_?” Eccentric asks, muffled by the cookies.

                “A spy. Much like the one at BLU.” Sniper says.

                Eccentric licks on a finger, probably getting some crumbs. Eventually, he shrugs, shifting his position as he reaches for his documents. He folds one into a paper airplane, tossing it towards Medic. Despite his initial confusion, Medic does read over the paper.

                “ _Mien Gott_!” Medic says, “This is a document about the plot of lands both BLU and RED are on! Many people were looking for this!”

                Sniper heard that both Spies were annoyed they could not find this document. BLU more so than RED, given that technically the two of them rent the plots they’re on. Owning the land would make significant difference, though Sniper was fine with his current set up.

                “I do dabble in espionage.” Eccentric says, “Sniping’s a good job too, though seems my preferred eye is starting to go to hell. Also, you can keep the document. It’s just a copy.”

                “A sniper and a spy.” Sniper says, “I can’t believe it.”

                “Do what you’re good at.” Eccentric says, “Part of why you have a coffee shop, yes?”

                It _is_ a pet project… Easy to tell his parents that he’s doing what he loves, and say there’s no mercenary work involved. If it weren’t for the fact that the money gave away that it was impossible. Saying that the mercenaries became a multi-city wide mob bosses would not make things better.

                “So who are you working for?” Sniper asks.

                “Currently in between contracts.” Eccentric says, “Someone’s real interested in RED and BLU, but they don’t know I’m on good terms with Frenchie. I ain’t saying I won’t take it. But I am saying you might have a problem brewing. Frenchie would dismiss me, I know him far too well. You? You seem the sort to take this for what it is, a warning.”

                And with that, he starts to pack up his box of cookies. He even goes to leave his rifle behind, with both Sniper and Medic giving him an incredulous look.

                “It’s old. Trigger gets stuck too many times. And one of the parts don’t want to move when I need to shift eye dominance.” He says, “Besides, I doubt you’d let me live with it, so call it a gift. Hopefully I’ll see you in a few months Mundy, and I won’t look like shit.”

                Sniper isn’t sure he wants to let Eccentric leave, though he feels a hand on his shoulder. Spy gave some sort of blessing, and Medic remains where he stands. When they hear the door close, with an uncomfortable silence overcoming the building…

                “He certainly is a character.” Spy says.

                “I hope I don’t see him again.” Sniper says.

                He needed to let some strain off, and he decides to see about that rifle Eccentric leaves behind. It’s easy to work around, and the problems indeed exist. Sniper could replace the trigger easy, and the part to help with comfort, hell… Sniper didn’t mind it so much. It’s a decent rifle, though he has a feeling getting bullets for it will be difficult.

                “There is much to discern from this…” Medic says.

                “Yeah, might need to…” Sniper starts, “Think the BLU Spy will give more info on him?”

                They did have to fight today. Mission they were given, Sniper half wonders why they still do… this. Act like they’re enemies.

                “You would find out quicker than any of us.” Spy says.

                “Doesn’t mean we’ll get much of anything.” Sniper says, “Though, with that document… might be something coming to us, still don’t like he went to me over his supposed friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, this is setting up for some serious stuff.  
> I have fallen in love with Eccentric. (there was another OC, another class blender, and I intend for three class blenders to appear. But, they needed a lot more work than Eccentric did)  
> (Sorry if you may have liked the original, but I think this runs smoother)


	6. Chapter 4.5- Meddling- BLU Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BLU Spy and RED Sniper get talking about conflicts.  
> Kinda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gonna casually remind people that I edited chapter 4. You should see it’s significantly shorter and a lot of details have changed.  
> Made an executive decision and feel it reads better. Sorry if you liked it, I erm… didn’t.  
> I still have the old pieces, but I did elect that it wasn't reading all that well and changed what I thought the problem was.  
> Uh, expect another BLU Spy chapter next and Miss Pauling's appearance.

                This happened more often than what the BLU Spy would like. Most of the men from BLU and RED were mercenaries, before turning to this ‘casual’ mafia style work. It makes sense that many of them actually want to take contracted work.

                What did not was the fact that people pitted BLU and RED in the same area.

                Spy has already determined that it was not based on oversight: every mission that involved them was intentional. No matter who hired them, it was carefully planned. At least BLU and RED set about to complete different tasks: BLU often prevents unfavorable actions (such as police involvement, but sometimes keeping fires from spreading too far), while RED was the more destructive force (stealing intelligence, setting bombs, the like).

                It used to annoy Spy, though he and the RED Sniper came upon an agreement. Of sorts.

                Neither of them _admitted_ it, but hiring new mercenaries was difficult. As was certain missions, where it was clear the BLU Spy could sneak better than RED or get the object of interest quicker than the RED Scout. The reverse happened too: the RED Sniper was a better sniper, and the RED Medic was more apt for healing.

                Convincing the opposing teammates was difficult, if not impossible. It took many months for Spy to have Engie, Medic, Scout, and Demo to see his way. Soldier, Pyro, and Sniper were obviously miffed, though eventually they went for ‘non-lethal’ takedowns.

                What he did not expect was a message. The RED Spy left a document on his desk before they packed up to leave. It was one he was hunting down for months, and RED left a simple message on top.

                “He needs to talk to you, this should explain why.”

                It would take forever for him to find his Sniper, especially with making sure the teams had a certain level of animosity and understanding… Somehow, the BLU Soldier and RED Demo make a game out of it, clearly having some sort of fun. Halfhearted insults with apologies thrown in the mix, much of the usual.  
                Eventually, Spy does find the RED Sniper at a perch. He noticed the rifle immediately.

                “That isn’t yours.” Spy says.

                “Nope.” Sniper agrees, “Someone named Eccentric left me with his junk.”

                Ah.  
                Eccentric.  
                Spy sighs deeply, not able to mask his frustrated groan that comes out soon after. It would explain why Spy could not find the document, and it also tells him that Eccentric is working his way back in ‘the game’ of espionage.  
                Either Eccentric is working alone, or his other teammates are electing decisions for him.

                “And he chose to speak to you.” Spy says.

                Sniper shrugs, working on the rifle. It’s clear it’s an older model, a couple of design quirks make shifting the parts around awkward. But, Sniper has managed with it.

                “I don’t know how much I believe him, but he said he went to me given… Well, he either thought you wouldn’t listen to him, or you’d listen to me quicker.” He says.

                “A bit of both.” Spy admits, “As much as I enjoy Eccentric’s company… his loyalties are to himself and to his team first. I would consider what he’s doing underhanded, and perhaps manipulative. But, as a Spy, I cannot fault him. It’s what I would do, given those circumstances.”

                “Makes sense, I reckon.” Sniper says, “Still don’t change I don’t like this one bit. Why go through all this trouble if he’s debating on going against us?”

                Valid questions, one that Spy has already considered. He did not know Eccentric’s teammates all that well, but he done his research. The one called Maelstrom had more loyalties to the Yucatan peninsula area, having distinct ties to the Maya that reside there. And the one named Hatter… Who knew with him, most presume he’s a bit ‘off hinged.’ Spy takes that to mean he’s much like their Medics than actually crazy. But, with someone like Eccentric, it wouldn’t be too farfetched he somehow made friends with a psychopath.

                “Well. He works with two others.” Spy says.

                “Medic and Spy helped me understand that. Our Heavy encountered Maelstrom before, said he could respect a man with a big gun, but still too little for him.” Sniper says, “Hatter, well, Demo heard of him. Said the man’s… off his head, lot more than either our Medics.”

                “But, if they split the vote…” Spy starts.

                “Then he follows them if they decide going after us is worth it.” Sniper concludes.

                There’s an uncomfortable silence between them. The tasks of the mission get done below them, but it feels as though they’re alone, in their own place…  
                But, Spy noticed the Sniper’s discomfort. The way he fumbles with one of the pieces of the unfamiliar rifle, a part that must be a stubborn one, given the clicks and how it hitches in spots.

                “Think we’re in danger Spook?” he asks.

                If it weren’t for Eccentric, Spy’s immediate answer would be no. Too many outside forces were encroaching to his liking, not to mention MannCo. He knows Sniper received information, and with Eccentric’s meddling, things just don’t feel right.

                “I don’t know.” Spy says, “I don’t think we know all the players of this plot. But, since Eccentric makes his moves months in advance, we may know soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow that's.... short.  
> But I knew I needed some sort of transition. Something to go "this is a turning point" before it actually happens.  
> IDK I think it's necessary though I guess this can be ignored if it seems too out of place.  
> (I'm also working on another work, but I should be catching up with this with more updates given... reasons. Far too inspired for my own good)


	7. Chapter 5- Café bombón- BLU Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BLU Spy interacts with Miss Pauling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I do this. Why did I do this to myself.  
> I hope you realize I researched a lot about both Sniper’s clothes and Bangladeshi clothing.

                There’s always a lull after a mission as horrific as that one. An accident occurred, a true one. Misfired rounds from a rocket launcher, both Spy and the RED Sniper were sure that their Soldiers promised to only use their shovels.  
                Well, ‘promise’ was an empty word when they both brought the weapons.  
                Spy managed to pull the RED Sniper out of the way of the blast, but at the cost of breaking his arm. Sniper ended up with a couple shrapnel in his body, though his Medic managed to clean the wounds.  
                Spy’s, however, could only assure that the broken bone would heal in a week.

                Spy was pissed, everyone knew it, but they could not give him a wide berth.

                No, it seemed that almost everyone wanted to help him in his state.

                “Laborer, I promise you I can do this one handed.” He responded when he set to work making the base of a tiramisu.  
                “Scout, if you do not stop following me and get back to the front…” he said when he noticed the Bostonian was lurking.  
                “Soldier, no amount of expressing your apologies will change the situation. I have begrudgingly forgiven you. But I will take it back if you keep treating me as though I am incapable of doing everything myself.” He was more than certain he said variants of this multiple times. At least Soldier felt bad.  
                “Medic. Stop.” He said when he was getting sick of telling people to leave him alone.

                Spy should take the week off. The RED Sniper did, from what he heard from ‘whispering’ customers. They saw his cast and far too many people wondered why he did not take a break.  
                He should, but he did not particularly want to. It wasn’t for advantage reasons, it was that he would drive himself back into work in his own home, and it was better he was around people to occasionally remind him of his limits.

                Like now. With his BLU Sniper, Demo, and Heavy cautiously approaching him.

                Spy was attempting to make tiramisu and an opera cake. He disliked his previous attempts yesterday, and the Engineer left him alone. The only person he trusts with the chocolate work in his state was Pyro, and it so happened to be their day off.

                “Mate.” Sniper says.

                Spy was almost impressed with his caution. If it weren’t for the fact he had a knife chopping the chocolate in chunks, Spy would think that Sniper’s grown to like him.

                “Bushman.” Spy says.

                “Look Mate. It’s just three more days with the cast, but the doc already said you shouldn’t strain yourself.” Sniper says.

                “Aye, Spy you’re going to do what you want, but…” Demo chimes in.

                “The Spy is being little baby and should let people help.” Heavy says.

                Spy stabs the blade into the cutting board, inhaling deeply as he considers their words. They’re right, more than just that, this shouldn’t be an affront for him. Maybe it’s the fact the RED Sniper can take a break, but mentally he cannot. Maybe it’s the fact he broke an arm. His dominant hand too, the discomfort of using his non-dominant one certainly was getting to him.  
                But dammit, he wanted opera cake. For himself. And maybe some Scotch, later.

                “These are tricky to get right.” Spy says.

                “I think Heavy learned how to get both of them right for customers.” Sniper says.

                Right for _customers_ , not necessarily for himself. Spy was significantly picker than his customers. He always fulfilled quality, but sometimes when there had to be substitutions, he used them. For him, well, the thought made him want to retch.

                “Da, tiramisu easy. Opera cake picky, but Heavy not scared of picky cake.” Heavy says.

                Spy was tempted to take out the knife and use it to threaten his teammates. The opera cake was _different_ , he was using alcohol in it instead of coffee. Well, he was going to use alcohol. Spy slips away from the knife, sitting down in what’s usually Demo’s drinking spot. Heavy wastes no time, looking over Spy’s recipe notes to pick up where he left off. Demo finds a small crate to bring over, while Sniper leans against a wall nearby.  
                Aside from Heavy’s singing, it’s mostly quiet. Odd day, maybe people know he’s not feeling well. Or business just decided to be slow. It’s so strange.

                “If I hate the taste I am killing all three of you.” Spy says at last.

                “Spook, you and I both know you will have difficulties. You may be mostly ambidextrous out of necessity, but you clearly prefer your left hand.” Sniper says.

                That’s not entirely-. Oh no wait, it is true. Sniper noticed that Spy made quicker work with his left hand and always would slip in the habit of doing far too many things with his left side.

                “I will kill you in your sleep.” Spy clarifies.

                “Sure you will. But have a drink first.” Demo says.

                Surprisingly, it wasn’t Demo’s usual swill. It was…

                “Absinthe?” Spy asks, “I thought this was illegal here.”

                “Well, if it is, I’m sure you won’t say a word.” Demo says.

                A fair point, and explains the strange distilling device he found earlier. By all means, it certainly wasn’t bad. Not his favorite, though took a great deal of the edge off while he listens to the sounds of mixing.  
                Then he hears the Scout get far too chatty with one of the customers.

                “What is that boy doing…” Spy says.

                Spy knew when he heard ‘flirting,’ or at least what the Scout counted for it. He briefly wondered if the RED Spy knew just how incompetent both Scouts are, dropping the thought when he walks through the front. Scout keeps up with his vague attempts at ‘flirting,’ stopping when both him and the woman he was talking to hears him clear his throat.  
                Spy knew who the woman was, Miss Pauling, some sort of assistant for MannCo. Someone else approached him about some sort of… ‘partnership.’ It could not be anyone else, given she’s wearing purple, looked exceptionally overburdened with paperwork that she has attempted to balance for the past minute, and seemed relieved when Spy appeared.  
                He should have sent someone else, maybe Sniper, for laughs. People still mix up Mick and Lawrence, much to their annoyance.

                “Ah Spy! The BLU one I hope.” Pauling says, “Erm. Well, you have a broken arm and I doubt the one at RED could fake one, so it must be you.”

                Spy resisted the temptation to sigh, _again_. Instead, he walks up front, telling Scout to put the thirty minute break sign up and to ‘observe’ Sniper in his natural habitat. Scout groaned, as well as still attempted to flirt with Miss Pauling, but he did do as asked. When he leaves Pauling and Spy alone, she’s back to being all business.

                “So, I’m sure you’re aware we approached Reliable Espresso Dealings with the same offer. I heard the Sniper there, Mr. Mundy, he was tempted.” Pauling says.

                Considering he heard from the RED Sniper himself that he ignored the offer, Spy debated on how he should respond. He kept thinking back to how the BLU one owed him a favor.  
                Well, he does have one of RED’s shirts and BLU knows exactly where it is…

                “Perhaps we can ask him together?” Spy asks.

                It catches Pauling completely off guard, the way she jumps and has to struggle to keep her glasses from falling off. They’re on, crookedly, but she saved them from the ground.

                “I.” She starts, “I thought RED and BLU hated each other. Am I… wrong?”

                “Who knows.” Spy says.

                Her smile gotten to him, the kind of smile that Spy gets when he sasses picky customers in a similar way. ‘You. You _know_.’ Are among things he has heard when he uses the ‘who knows’ reason. But not here.  
                Miss Pauling did not appear to be in the mood for his sass.

                “Maybe if I could see the RED Sniper here with you, I could get clarification on your statement.” She says a bit too loudly.

                If Sniper was awake, he should have heard that. Instead of Sniper, Spy sees Heavy peak his head outside, looking to see who made that sound. He keeps a stern look, backtracking back into the kitchen. Spy and Pauling remain quiet for a couple minutes, waiting.

                “Who knows, maybe he fell asleep.” Spy says.

                The next person out the door was… Lawrence in the RED Sniper’s shirt and a quickly wrapped arm with what looked to be blood on it. Didn’t change the pants, RED preferred khaki colored ones to blue. But, Pauling groans when Lawrence stands beside Spy.

                “So… this is Miss Pauling?” Lawrence asks.

                “Oui, she seems to think we’re enemies.” Spy says.

                “We ain’t mates, but I think we have a friendly rivalry. I saw you sneaking tea for your Madeleines.” Lawrence says.

                Spy makes the best mock surprise gasp, probably being far too overly dramatic as he leans against Lawrence.

                “You promised you would not tell!” Spy says.

                “To your team.” Lawrence says.

                Pauling ends up dropping her files on the countertop, sighing and rubbing her eyes. Spy certainly hopes she understand the point.

                “Right. This is getting me nowhere.” Pauling says, “So. I was supposed to give you and the RED Sniper these files, but looks like you’re both here. They’re yours.”

                “Erm, ‘scuse me.” Lawrence starts, “But what’re we supposed to do with them?”

                “Preferably _read_ them.” Pauling says, “I am sure if you have some sort of problem with that, your… potential partner could read them to you. At the very least, if you want me to leave, consider that I still have to do my job and I can give you a month to consider all the details.”

                Spy raises a brow, completely astounded at her. Impressive, certainly put Lawrence on edge, to where Spy had to move away and attempted to stack the files in a neat pile. Lawrence gave in and helped him.

                “I make no promises Miss Pauling, I am sure your company gotten our answers the first time.” Spy says.

                “Oh, I think there are some terms in there that I think the both of you would like to know about.” Pauling says, “My boss called it laying out the cards, and I think a Spy like you can appreciate it.”

                Pauling does not linger past this, exiting the building and slamming the door behind her. She somehow shattered the glass door, giving a halfhearted apology as she gets on a moped that she had nearby and drives off.

                “Sheila’s certainly has personality. Wonder what Scout saw in her.” Lawrence says.

                “Similar to your question on what I see in the RED Sniper, and similar with my question on what you see in our Demoman.” Spy says.

                “Which I think I said it wasn’t your business, you’re a bloody piker, and some things you don’t question.” Lawrence says.

                Spy chuckles at the comment, walking over to see the extent of the damage on the door. Others exit the kitchen too, quickly moving to help clean the mess. Heavy handles most of the glass, insisting that the doctor would not like to pick shards out of Spy.  
                Probably for the best.

                Once cleared, Spy takes a seat by the register. He tells the Scout to work in the back for the day, spending time in the front with Demo of all people. Both of them are usually doing tasks in the back, though Spy figured, just this once… he can change things around.  
                He’s soon thinking that he’s made the right decision for the wrong reason.

                A woman approaches the door, not quite like anyone he’s seen. Spy can tell a tourist from a regular, and while she was dressed in Western attire, it did not change the dark tones in her skin and the headscarf… oh what was it called again? Spy keeps mixing them up. It has far more decoration than he’s seen previously, and still shows all her face, but not her neck.  
                She’s careful when entering, her steps much too… precise. Like a soldier’s march, or a band. She holds into a strap, a case of some sort leaning against her back. It could be an instrument, though Spy has seen similar inconspicuous cases the Snipers have…

                “ _Bonjour_ , welcome to Baker’s League United. What can I help you with?” Spy says.

                Being polite would get him a lot more information, and while the timing is _coincidental_ and suspicious, he has little reason to believe someone would be after him today. That, and the typical lost look that he sees from tourists, who are only vaguely aware of where they are, keeps him steady.

                “Peace be upon you.” She says, “I had heard rumor about this place. That there is… Asian cuisine. Either bakery or coffee shop, I forget which. Do you have _pranahara_?”

                Not something he’s heard before. And he says as much, though offers to find her a substitute if she could describe the dessert better.

                “Ah! Willing to learn?” She asks, “Well, _pranahara_ means heart stealer, roughly. It is made with chhana, like curd cheese, has a… jaggery. I know it is sugar, but I do not know how to explain that sugar from other sugars. And condensed milk. I guess it is… mostly milk and sugar?”

                And probably cottage cheese. There had to be some sort of Western equivalent he could find. Spy ponders, stuck on a couple that he knows has cottage cheese, but the sugar escapes him. If he knew what jaggery was, maybe he could…  
                It’s Demo who makes the suggestion.

                “A lot of places are real picky about cottage cheese. You tend to find them in little puff pastries.” Demo says.

                “No no, too sweet.” She says, “I can handle sour, like paneer. Curdled with lemon juice most times. But I cannot handle sweet pastry.”

                “Well there went my suggestion, was going to say that Greek tyropita, you made it on occasion.” Demo says.

                “You both try, deep in thought. I appreciate it. Bangladesh is different from Western world, hard to think of similar dishes.” She says.

                “Most I can think of is Faisselle with honey or sugar, though most people turn their nose to eating what they consider a cottage cheese variant.” Spy says.

                As well as the fact that Spy managed to find someone that makes a raw milk version, but that tends to scare people away.

                “Sounds like trouble.” She says, “Not a bakery dish.”

                “If it is what you want…” Spy offers.

                She relents and accepts his offer, though Spy sends Demo out to retrieve the cheese and put it in a container he has for smaller desserts. It would take all his personal stash, but perhaps he can get honest answers from his guest.

                “What brings you to this part of America?” he asks.

                “Work!” she says, “Used to go all over Asia, then I got job in English speaking places. Still stumble on words.”

                “I speak multiple languages, I face similar problems. It gets easier.” Spy says.

                “You always cook in suit?” she asks.

                “With an apron and a towel over my shoulder.” He says.

                She chuckles, pausing to take out her phone. Advanced, but Spy could not see a brand. Happened, on occasion. May have brought over her device from Bangladesh.

                “Hm. Always worried about bakery?” she asks.

                “All the time. I pride myself on having pleased customers.” Spy says.

                “Maybe a little too pleased.” She says, “Work with broken arm, you should be in office.”

                “That’s what my team says to me, they keep a firm eye on what I do and help, even when I say no.” he says.

                Demo returns with the package, Spy checking it over to see that he didn’t drench it in honey. Pleased, he gently gives it to the woman. When she goes to pay, Spy refuses.

                “For not having what you wanted and you must need to head to work.” Spy says.

                “Overly generous man.” She says, “I will remember this kindness. Recommend place, think of Western dessert I want to try.”

                “Mer- Ahm. Thank you.” Spy says, “Perhaps I could get a name, to remember?”

                “What about you? Or is your reputation to be the unnamed owner?” she asks.

                It did bring him a chuckle, debating on giving a false name, but Spy tended to know when people can see through his ruse.

                “Perhaps what your name starts with?” Spy asks.

                “B.” She says.

                B will certainly work. And when she asks for his, he says S. She chuckles a certain way, one that’s a bit disbelieving. He knew this would happen, though she adjusts her stance, making a kind of military salute.

                “Stay well!” she says.

                “I will say… check out Reliable Espresso Dealings, I think you can find a drink that at least originated in Asia.” Spy says.

                “Ah! I will do so! Thank you!” she says.

                When she leaves, Spy can feel the questioning gaze on his back. Demo at least has enough sense to wait until he cannot hear her walking, and even more to pull Spy in closer to whisper.

                “I thought there was a rule against that.” Demo says.

                “The RED Spy has been in Asia, and perhaps can see if she’s not in disguise. Something about her feels… off.” Spy says.

                “And you don’t know if it’s because you’re right or because she’s throwing your Spydar off.” Demo says.

                …. Spydar? Spy groans, knowing that some silly nickname Scout gave for ‘things Spy does’ has somehow started to stick.

                “Oui. And never call it that again.” He says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep thinking of a (mostly) fem team and I also made my own OCs for them that are not just female versions of the mercs. So here’s a Bangladeshi Sniper I’ve been working on (who’s name is most likely gonna be Basonti). (still debating on how much English she’s familiar with, though I’m around a hodgepodge of all sorts of Eastern cultures, given where I live, and this is close to what I hear from Indo-Aryan language groups who’s second (third, fourth, fifth, etc.) language is English)  
> She may or may not appear in a future work (aside from a work surrounding the fem team that I'm still mentally piecing together) but this is her only appearance here.  
> That and I want customer interactions. That's what makes these places!


End file.
